


you do not sow, i do not reap

by ozmissage



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozmissage/pseuds/ozmissage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Theon are forced to take a respite from the war when Robb asks them to set sail for Pyke. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you do not sow, i do not reap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soapboxblues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapboxblues/gifts).



Jon had heard tell of the sea’s vastness, but no words could prepare him for just how small it would make him feel the first time he stood at its edge. The waves surge forward and he imagines they’re reaching out for him, trying to drag him under with every lap at his ankles, and for a moment fear rises in his chest, clenching at his heart. He takes a steadying breath to force it away. It is only water, and they must cross it to reach the Iron Islands.

Beside him stands Theon Greyjoy, who is not afraid at all.

“What’s the matter, Snow? Afraid of getting wet?” he mocks. Jon feels his ears grow warm, an outward sign of his moment of cowardice, and he is not sure who he loathes more, his body for betraying him or Theon for witnessing it.

“I am not afraid,” Jon says with an ease he does not feel. He pushes forward to board the fisherman’s ship that will take them to their destination. “And it is not Snow anymore.”

Even without turning back, Jon knows Theon is smirking. Theon knows, just as Jon does, that he will always be a Snow, no matter how many documents Robb signs that swear he is a Stark.

-

The only thing Jon and Theon share is a disdain for their respite from the war. Robb forced their hands in the matter. _Are you not my brothers?_ he asked, knowing that they would hear it as a challenge. Each of them would fight for him, would die for him, as he would for them. It turns out they would cross the sea for him as well.

In the end it was a simple matter: they needed ships and Theon’s father had them. Theon protested Jon’s inclusion; he even went so far as to suggest that Robb did not trust him to complete the task on his own. _My father will not take kindly to a bastard envoy._ The words did not make Jon flinch, but Robb became dangerously still when he heard them.

_I am not sending a bastard envoy, I am sending my Hand, I am sending my brother, and your father will understand the gravity of the gesture, just as he will understand that you are a hostage no more._

Much as Jon loves him, he can not deny that Robb is naïve. Jon fears the greeting he expects is waiting for them when they reach Theon’s homeland. He wishes that Ghost was with him at least, but a ship was no place for a direwolf and Robb feared the Ironmen would see Ghost as a threat. Jon had been left with no choice but to leave his companion with Robb and Greywind. At times it felt as if he had left behind an arm.

Without Ghost, it’s as if Jon is completely alone. Robb may trust Theon with his life, but Jon can not. He would prefer to be at his brother’s side, or leading a faction to lay siege on King’s Landing to retrieve his sisters. ( _Anywhere but here_ , he thinks.) But Jon goes where his king commands even if that means a week spent being tossed about by waves with only Theon Greyjoy for companionship as the war rages on without him.

-

Theon spends the first day of their journey drunk below deck with the captain’s daughter. Jon can see the man’s anger etched in every creased line of his weathered face, but he does not dare to challenge his passengers. Jon does not wish to cause the man pain, nor does he relish the idea of Theon leaving the girl ruined. He will likely leave her with a bastard in her belly, another child without a name. Short of tossing Theon overboard, there is little Jon can do to keep him away from the girl though, and he is under strict orders to see that Theon arrives in his homeland in one piece.

Since violence is not an option, Jon spends most of his time avoiding the captain and pacing the deck. He stares out at the endless expanse of water before him and takes note of the fins that skim the surface from time to time, of the birds that dive down to catch unsuspecting fish in their gaping maws, and of the other boats they pass. Of those there are many: small vessels with no crew but the men casting nets over the side, and large ships with ornate prows and vibrant masts. He tries to memorize every detail so that he might carry the picture back to Bran, Rickon, and Arya. Thinking on Arya makes his heart hurt. _I should be making my way to King’s Landing to bring her home, not watching fish,_ he thinks bitterly.

Jon is so lost in his own thoughts that he does not hear Theon approach.

“Do you never sleep, Snow? When last I saw you, you were standing exactly there staring at the ocean, and that was at sundown.”

“There is little else to do,” Jon replies, expecting that to be the end of it. Much to his surprise Theon settles in beside him.

“There’s wine and a woman…well, I suppose that’s being generous. There’s wine.”

“We are not here to play, Greyjoy.”

Theon snorts. “You never play, Snow. Even when you were a child, you were sullen and ill-tempered. Being you must be very dull.”

Jon ignores Theon’s attempt to bait him into an argument and glances skyward instead.

“There’s a storm coming.”

Theon follows Jon’s gaze, “There was a storm the day I arrived at Winterfell. Do you remember? The rain smelled wrong so far from the sea.”

The sudden distance in Theon’s voice is unfamiliar. There has long been an unspoken rule between them. They do not speak of things that matter. They snap at each other, they speak of strategies and, when they were children, of chores, but they have never spoken to one another as friends or equals. Theon is a prince and a captive, Jon a Lord’s son and a bastard—both of them too lowly and too proud to speak to the other with anything but bitterness. But today is different, out here sailing toward his homeland, Theon is changed somehow.

Theon takes a deep breath and then exhales slowly, clearly relishing the sensation. “Can you taste the salt, Snow?”

He can.

-

Lightning flashes, followed by a clap of thunder that Jon swears he can feel rattling his bones. Beneath his feet, the deck pitches and Theon’s hand clamps down on Jon’s arm either out of instinct or self-preservation, Jon does not know which, but he is grateful for the support. Together they struggle to make their way below deck, their boots sliding across the slippery boards with every step.

Once they slam the door shut behind them, Jon realizes he is shaking. _You must not let him see your fear,_ Jon silently chastises himself, but when he looks at Theon, he sees that Theon’s face has gone pale. Before Jon can speak another violent wave hits the starboard side, slamming Theon roughly against Jon’s chest. Jon catches him around the waist with one hand and braces them both against the wall with the other until the boat stills enough for them to make their way to their quarters.

Jon pushes open the door, gripping the iron handle as the boat resumes its perilous rocking. He allows the motion to propel him to the bed where he falls down in an ungraceful heap, with Theon close behind. They are both soaked to the bone, their clothes clinging to their skin as fiercely as their sopping hair clings to their foreheads.

“What about the captain’s daughter?” Jon asks.

Theon and Jon were meant to be sharing a cabin, but even with a storm raging, Jon assumes Theon would rather fight his way down the hall than spend a night in such close proximity to him.

“She’s likely clinging to her father’s breeches by now,” Theon says before reaching down to unlace his boots.

Jon supposes one night together won’t kill them. They shared a bed many times in their youth, but it was never just the two of them. Robb was always sandwiched between them, sometimes Bran too, and even Arya on the nights she could slip past Septa Mordane. On the coldest nights, when even the hot springs that coursed through Winterfell’s walls could not keep them warm, they would all bunch up in a single bed and whisper stories of grumpkins and Others to each other until sun up.

A strong gust of wind sends the boat swaying again and breaks Jon’s reverie by triggering a wave of nausea.

“Have you been at sea in a storm before?” Jon asks in hopes of distracting himself from the roiling sensation in his gut.

“No,” Theon replies. There is an edge of anger in his voice. Jon decides not to press him any further. He knows that Theon is thinking of home too, but of which home, Jon is not sure.

Jon turns away from Theon, curls on his side, and tries to let the wind howling through the boards lull him to sleep. Although not one for prayers, Jon silently prays for the Old Gods to send him dreams of Winterfell, of Arya, and Robb. Beside him Theon is shivering, but Jon does not attempt to move closer.

-

When Jon wakes he is alone. He breaks his fast on a meal of dried venison before making his way to the deck. The tranquility he finds there is startling; the morning has dawned with clear skies and calm waters. The only sign that there was a storm are two errant crabs that were unlucky enough to be tossed onboard by the violent waves. The captain has already caught one, but the other one is skittering away from him with surprising speed. Jon can’t help but smile at the sight of the old man darting after his tiny prey.

He considers offering his help, but Theon’s transgressions have left Jon wary of engaging the captain in conversation. Instead he sets off in the opposite direction to stretch his legs as best he can within the confines of the small ship. Three days at sea and already Jon longs to see land. He rounds a corner to find Theon whispering into the ear of the captain’s daughter, making her blush and giggle like a maid.

Jon turns to leave them, but it’s too late, Theon has already spotted him.

“Come and join us,” he drawls lazily. The girl does not look any more thrilled by the prospect, than Jon himself does.

“I was just taking a walk. Pardon the intrusion, my lady,” Jon says and the girl’s blush grows deeper.

“You’re on a ship; it’s going to be a very short walk. Let’s give the girl a show instead. Go and get your sword, Snow.”

Jon shakes his head, but Theon stands suddenly and draws his blade. “Come now, you’re not afraid are you?”

“Put your blade away, Greyjoy.” Jon keeps his voice low and even. He will not allow himself to be provoked.

Theon stalks closer to Jon swinging his sword with a flourish meant to impress the girl. She is too young and too removed from the world to understand the insult in the action. It is not proper to draw a sword on an unarmed man, nor should one unsheathe a blade they do not intend to use.

“Come on, just a bit of practice to get our blood flowing. You’ll go mad if you spend all of your time brooding and staring at the sea. You don’t want the lady to think you craven do you?”

The others take him, Theon always knows how to get under Jon’s skin.

“I would be more afraid if the lady were holding the blade,” Jon replies, but Theon merely grins.

-

Theon parries Jon’s first blow, but it is mere luck. Jon’s second strike lands and he turns his blade at the last moment to deliver a smack rather than a stab. They should not be dueling with real steel; their swords are far too dangerous for play. Still, hearing the sound of their blades clashing makes Jon’s heartbeat quicken. There is no sweeter song in the world than the song of swords.

“You still fight like a bastard,” Theon hisses.

Jon swings his blade up to meet Theon’s in a blow so hard that it makes his arm ache. Theon stumbles back, but he manages to disguise his surprise.

“It’s best you wait on the boat when we get to Pyke,” Theon continues. “We both know that Robb is wrong, if I show up at my father’s door with you in tow, he’s like to kill you on the spot.”

Theon dances away from Jon, no doubt a ploy to make Jon follow, but Theon has never been good at pulling off a feint. He is an archer at heart, but Jon is a swordsman. He holds his ground as Theon continues to talk.

“It doesn’t matter much to me whether you’re dead or alive, but I’d prefer it if my father did not think I keep company with bastards, Snow.”

Jon has had enough. He waits for Theon to make his move and when he does, Jon turns quickly to the right, causing Theon’s blade to sink into the damp boards of the ship’s wall. If Theon had hit his mark, Jon would not still be breathing. Jon knocks Theon roughly to the ground and lets his blade come to rest on Theon’s neck. He presses just hard enough to draw a few droplets of blood. It is not honorable, but it is far less than Theon deserves.

“You should be more worried about what your father will think of you, Greyjoy.”

Jon sheathes his sword once more and walks away.

-

It takes far longer than it should for his anger to subside.

Jon returns to his cabin and forces himself not to think on Theon, but then his mind turns to Robb and the war which only makes him angrier. He should never have left. He was not made to do nothing, and the constant confinement is suffocating. He misses the chaotic sounds of the camp at morning, the long, meandering conversations he shared with Robb at night, but most of all he misses the battles, the sense that he was contributing to the cause.

Jon groans into his pillow only to find that it smells of Theon. He tosses it from the bed and relishes the satisfying thump that it makes when it hits the wall. He rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in his arms. He decides the best course of action is to sleep the rest of the voyage away.

-

He wakes to the smell of wine and the sensation of someone’s warm breath tickling his neck. Jon rolls over to get a better look at the intruder and finds himself face to face with Theon.

“I don’t remember my father’s face,” he whispers.

Jon stares at Theon uncertainly. He is obviously drunk, his mood returned once more to introspection. Jon prefers him volatile, to be honest. At least that is a Theon he understands. It is far too hard to be angry at this Theon and Jon is still stinging from their encounter on their deck.

“You stink of wine,” Jon says in hopes of provoking Theon to return to his senses. “Go and clean yourself up.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway, I suppose. He’ll be changed, just as I have. I was a boy when I left and now I’m a man grown,” Theon raises himself up on his elbows. “What you said before…I am afraid.”

“You’re his son--” Jon begins.

“The North has made me weak and the one thing I do remember about my father is that he can not abide weakness.”

“Theon,” Jon says softly and the corners of Theon’s lips quirk upwards.

“I can count on one hand the number of times you have called me ‘Theon.’”

Jon shrugs. He can not recall a single time Theon has called him ‘Jon’ without it being followed by ‘Snow,’ but he does not bother reminding Theon of that. Even drunk and forlorn, he would no doubt find the strength to make a jape.

Theon leans closer and tugs back his collar. He points to the scratch on his neck, “You left a mark.”

Jon reaches out to trace the small scratch with his fingertips. Jon realizes the intimacy in the motion a moment too late. This is not who they are. Theon is making him break their rules.

“You made me angry.”

“It’s so easy to do.”

“Are you sorry?” Jon asks.

Theon laughs. It’s a feint, but Jon realizes too late, by then Theon has already wrapped his hand around the back of Jon’s neck and pressed his lips against Jon’s. Jon’s first instinct is to pull away, but Theon is persistent. He nips at Jon’s bottom lip then sucks at it gently, his tongue darting out to meet Jon’s own. Despite himself, Jon has grown painfully hard, a situation Theon seems determined to remedy if the way he’s making short work of the laces on Jon’s pants is any indication.

Theon pushes Jon’s pants open and wraps his hand around his quarry. Jon’s hips buck upwards as if they have a mind of their own.

“We’ll regret this on the morrow,” Jon murmurs, but he knows he is too far gone to care.

“Shut up, Stark,” Theon hisses before putting his mouth to better use.

-

They do not regret it on the morrow. Nor the one that follows.

They stay inside their cabin, fucking and fighting and talking. They speak of Robb and the war. Of Winterfell and Pyke. It is a sweet interlude; one that Jon finds himself hoping might last beyond their journey even though he knows that it can not.

“What will you do after we win?” Theon asks. They are lying together, naked and sweat-drenched on the cold cabin floor.

“I’ll go to The Wall,” Jon replies without hesitation. “I’ll take the black.”

“You’re second in line to Winterfell now…”

“No. Sansa is second in line. I will never hold Winterfell, just as I will never truly be a Stark.”

Theon traces lazy circles across Jon’s stomach with his thumb, his brow creased in thought.

“If I were you, I would take what is mine,” he says. There is a dark edge to Theon’s words that Jon does not quite understand. Jon closes his eyes.

“Nothing is mine.”

-

Pyke rises up before them. Its dark towers stand in stark contrast to the otherwise unbroken blue skyline. Jon tries to imagine Theon in such a cold place, but he can only conjure images of him laughing in the yard at Winterfell.

The closer they get to the shore, the more tightly Theon grips the rail. His knuckles have gown white, but if the sensation is painful he does not seem to have noticed. Jon studies Theon’s face as Pyke draws near. He sees wonder there and excitement, but there’s fear too.

Jon places a hand on Theon’s back, forcing away the sudden thought that this may be the last time Theon allows Jon to touch him like this.

“You’re home,” Jon assures him and for one brief moment Theon looks away from Pyke and the shoreline. Theon smiles at Jon, that familiar smile that has tormented Jon since he was a boy, but it does not reach his eyes this time.

“Am I?” Theon asks.


End file.
